


Frerard Oneshots

by toasterphobia



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28919715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toasterphobia/pseuds/toasterphobia
Summary: yes, there will be smut. yes, there will be fluff. yes, there will be angst. yes, i am an emo little bitch. and no, i have absolutely nothing better to do with my time than write about a couple middle aged men who had a thing back in the day. enjoy.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Based On Real Life ~ANGSTY/FLUFFY~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this oneshot is based off of something that happened to me a few months ago. it follows the real events fairly loosely

BIG TW// graphic description of self-harm, purging, homophobia and suicidal thoughts/ideation also the word f*ggot is used so idk if anyone needs that tw but there you go anyway

oh another thing im slightly delirious bc um sleep?? who is she?? so if this doesnt make any fuckin sense thats why (or maybe i just suck-)

°·*°·*°·*°·*

Frank's POV

I slammed the front door as I rushed into the apartment I share with my boyfriend, tears running down my face like a water fall. They showed no sign of stopping. Blindly, I stumbled into our bedroom, my eyes so blurred with tears that I could barely see. I ripped the adjacent bathroom door open and started rummaging through my tidy drawer. Well, not so tidy anymore. I knew Gerard, my aforementioned boyfriend, would be at work by now, so I didn't even worry about making too much noise.

I guess you're probably wondering what's going on, huh. Well, it all started this morning. It's actually not that long of a story. I was going coming home at 7 in the morning from working the night shift as a security guard at the local mueseum. Some kids around 18 years old, roughly my age, were loitering outside the front doors, vaping and laughing loudly at each other. I walked up to them, my intent simply to tell them they were going to have to leave the property if they wanted to continue making so much noise. I tapped one of them on the shoulder, and to my surprise, he whirled around, a look of disgust on his face.

"Oh look, it's the faggot security guard. You're fucking gross. I've seen you with you boyfriend, you fucking worthless piece of shit. You and your kind deserve to die, and then rot in hell. You're all evil. Don't ever touch me again or I'll rip your fucking face off." The boy scoffed, wiping his sleeve where I had touched him.

I could feel my eyes slowly start to fill with tears as I mulled over what he had said to me. My face was bright red and hot, my heart was pounding. To my surprise, I heard laughter bubble up from the throats of the other teenagers and involuntarily turned around, running as fast as I could away from those monsters. It was automatic, almost as if I didn't have a choice in it. That boy was right. I deserve to die. I'm so fucking disgusting. I'm worthless, and ugly, and stupid, a waste of space, a waste of air, a waste of others' time and energy. I'm nothing. I don't deserve anything other than total destruction.

And that's how I ended up where you tuned in.

I quickly gave up looking for the small object I was trying to find, remembering that I had left it in my bedside table the last time I used it. As I was turning around, about return to the bedroom, something caught my eye. It was the toilet, lid wide open.

I slowly walked toward the porcelain seat. My knees buckled when I reached it and collapsed onto the floor. My face was level with the clean white surface. I adjusted myself so I was propped up on my knees and I stayed there for a few seconds, just kneeling in front of my old best friend. You see, the shit chair and I, we go way back. I used to empty the contents of my stomach into it, partially as a coping mechamism, partially because I couldn't afford all the calories I had just eaten.

But I had left all that behind for my loving boyfriend. He had convinced me that there were other healthier coping mechanisms I could use, and I eventually decided to pursue recovery. And now. . .now is the time I'm going to throw that all in the trash.

Without another second of thought, I shoved three fingers down my throat and held them there. I have a pretty good gag reflex (I have to, I'm gay) so I knew that it would take a while before anything happened. I started choking on my fingers but I still didn't remove them from my mouth. 

After a few more moments of gagging, I finally spilled my guts into the shiny toilet bowl. It was completely bile, which makes sense considering the fact that I hadn't eaten since dinner last night, eleven hours ago. That's plenty of time to digest food. But it still felt so satisfying to relapse into my old habits. So many people have told me they feel like shit after relapsing, but every time I do it, I feel like me again.

I flushed the toilet and closed the lid, wiping my mouth before speed walking to the bedroom; to my bedside table. I opened the drawer and found- ah yes, there it is. My blade. This has been used as a coping mechanism much more recently than my previous actions.

I plopped criss cross applesauce on my side of the queen-sized bed and quickly rolled up my sleeve, finding exactly what I expected to be there: dark purple marks left over from my last session. I took in a shaky breath before placing the cool metal over the pale skin that hadn't been broken last time. I was going to slice up every bit of skin on the inside of my forearm that wasn't already marked up.

I shut my eyes tightly before dragging the blade across my flesh agonizingly slow, savoring the pain. You deserve this, I told myself- no, there was a voice in my head, but it wasn't my own. It was speaking to me, You deserve all this pain.

It wasn't more than two seconds before the blood started seeping and oozing out of the wound I had just made on myself. I watched in with fascination, squeezing the skin around the deep line to make the blood come faster. I repeated this cycle five times. That must tell you how scarred up my arm was before all this, considering I was cutting up every bit of skin that was still unblemished.

Just as I was about to go clean the blood off my arm so it wouldn't drip onto the carpeting in our room, I heard the door slam shut and a loud voice proclaiming "Honey, I'm home!"

Shit, Gerard! You just had to pick this very moment to walk through that door?!

"U-um, yeah! I can hear that babe! Why are you back from work so soon? Y'know what, nevermind. Just gimme a second to - err, get dressed, yeah, get dressed and I'll be out soon!" I yelled back, my voice shaking as my anxiety spiked. I ran to the bathroom and grabbed a thousand tissues, shoving them onto the cuts to stop the bleeding.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? I'm gonna come in, okay?" I heard Gerard's now-concerned voice on the other side of the bedroom door.

"No! I-I mean, no baby, that's okay, I'm fine." I said, panicking and trying to wrap my arm up in gauze at the same time.

"Sugar, I'm coming in." My boyfriend said firmly, though I could hear it in his voice; he was scared. He was now on the other side of the master bathroom door and I had forgotten to lock the door. I was still struggling with the gauze as he turned the knob. I had just tied it when he peeked his head around the edge of the wooden door.

"What's going on, ange- oh my god! You're bleeding!" Gerard's eyes widened like saucers and I stood there with my head down, blood seeping through the gauze on my forearm. My love scrambled over to me, his mouth running at one thousand miles per hour but asking only one question: "What happened?"

"Gerard-"

"Frankie, oh my- holy fuck, what happened?"

"Gerard-"

"Baby, please tell me what happened, I won't be mad, I promi-"

"Gerard! Will you be quiet for two seconds? I'm trying to explain this to you, for fuck's sake. If you want an answer, let me speak."

Gerard nodded, his eyes glassy. I knew that he knew what had happened already; he was just waiting for me to say it. This had happened many times before. The only thing he was in the dark about was the reason. Well, that and the bile I had flushed down the toilet roughly twenty minutes prior.

"Well. . .I relapsed. Again." I began, wincing at the bluntness of my words.

My partner took my hand gently and lead me to the bed where he sat us both down.

"Why?" he asked brokenly. It hurt me to hear him sound so hopeless, but it was nothing I hadn't heard before.

"There were these people making noise outside the mueseum as I was leaving after I finished my shift. I went over to them and was going to tell them to either quiet down or leave the mueseum's property, b-but when I tapped this guy's shoulder-" I paused as I remembered the look of pure disgust he directed toward me. I felt tears dripping down my face, but I wiped them away and continued telling me story, "-he started spouting these awful slurs at me. He told me all kinds of things, like how I deserve to die. He said I'm worthless and disgusting. And he's right."

"Baby. . .baby, no," Gerard said, his voice cracking with emotion, "None of that is true. You're so beautiful and pure and you're worth so much. You deserve to be on this Earth and it breaks my heart to even consider the idea that you believe you don't. You don't deserve these cuts. Why even listen to what assholes have to say about you? They're wrong, and you can shove that in their faces when you successfully make it in life and they don't. I'm so sorry I wasn't here to let you know that whatever that son of a bitch said to you, it isn't true. Please don't do this to yourself ever again. Okay, my gorgeous little angel?"

I hesitated, then nodded. We both knew that it was a lie, and this would happen repetitively, but sometimes it's just better to pretend for a while.

"Good," my ray of sunshine said, "Now why don't we clean up your booboos and then make some french toast?"

I nodded again, not really in the mood to talk.

Gerard did exactly what he said we would. First, we went to the bathroom and he threw away my blade (I'd get it out of the trash later), then cleaned my cuts. After we did that and he had wrapped more sterile gauze around my forearm, we migrated toward the kitchen where we cooked breakfast (french toast, just like he promised).

And though we both knew this happiness wouldn't last forever, we were content in the moment, and that's all that mattered to us.

°·*°·*°·*°·*

sorry if this was really dark


	2. Accidental Suicide ~ANGSTY~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based off a dream i had a little bit ago

in this oneshot frank and gerard are just friends. yes i know im boring (you can call me kansas, not bc thats where im from but bc im ugly, flat and boring *finger guns*;)

TW// blood, self-harm, food-restrictive thoughts, eating disorder, multiple suicides and major character death bc im quirky like that

°·*°·*°·*°·*

Frank had a nice life. He lived with his friends in a house that they shared. He had a dog named Sweet Pea that he loved more than he loved his mother (although that's not saying much; he hated his mom). He created a family with the people he lived with, and he was so grateful for them. All six of them knew almost everything there is to know about each other.

Almost.

You see this? This is Frank's self esteem. Oh, you don't see it? That's because it's not there. 

Frank had absolutely no confidence in the way he looked, but he was very good at hiding it. So good that perhaps if he hadn't told two of his roommates about his eating disorder, they would never have known. Maybe they would've blamed his thin frame and low weight on a fast metabolism. Or maybe they just would've assumed that he exercised often. But before they moved in together, Frank made sure those two knew about his habits.

Frank didn't want to die. Not really. He viewed suicide as an escape route, an exit for when things get a little too hard for him to cope with. So, in a moment of weakness that he couldn't help regretting, he told two of his closest friends about his disorder. The reason is simple and easy to understand. If things got unhealthy to the point of hospitalization, his friends were to help him with recovering, even force him if they had to. He didn't want to die of undernourishment. Frank didn't want to die.

But this was one of the moments where he just didn't know how to cope.

It was midnight and Frank was wide awake. He was sitting in a position that couldn't have been comfortable, sprawled with his feet twisted underneath his thighs. The location didn't look much more comfortable than his position. He was pressed against the side of the kitchen counter. The handles of the drawers were digging painfully into this back. He sighed shakily, tears falling from his eyes the same way a body might fall from a cliff. His hands trembled as he stared at the shiny metal scissors encased in them.

Frank didn't know what else to do. He hadn't eaten or had anything to drink except water in a week and still his stomach was covered by layer over layer of fat and skin. He couldn't believe how fucking fat he was. His abdomen was a constant reminder that no matter how hard he tried to lose weight, he would always look like a fucking whale to himself. And that's who he was doing this for. Himself.

So he adjusted his grip on the scissors and, with the other hand, grabbed a small bit of flab he had on either side of his belly button. He brought the scissors to his soft, unblemished tummy. One loud sob escaped his lips and his body tensed in preparation. Before he gave himself time to think about what he was doing, he snapped the twin knives shut with all his might.

"FUCK!" he screamed, his crying growing ever louder as the blood immediately started pouring from his sensitive belly. The sobs coming from his mouth were utterly heart-wrenching. He clutched his stomach to try to stop the blood flow, but all he succeeded in doing was drenching his hand in the warm red liquid.

After what seemed like an eternity to Frank (but was probably only a few moments), pounding footsteps were heard. Someone was on their way down the stairs. No, not just someone. It was multiple pairs of feet. When the owners of those feet reached the kitchen, Frank saw that it was Gerard and Tyler (the two friends that knew of his eating disorder) that had come running when they heard his scream, Patrick following close behind them. Hayley was an extremely deep sleeper and Ryan wasn't home, but it didn't matter to Frank that they weren't there. The less people that saw him in that state, the better.

"Frank! Oh my god, why the fuck would you do this?" Gerard choked out, panicking. His eyes were wide as he rushed over to Frank, removing the latter's hand from his wound to get a look at it. Frank tried to respond but he was losing blood quickly; he felt dizzy and lightheaded. He couldn't formulate a coherent sentence in his head, let alone in his mouth.

"Tyler-" Gerard chewed his lip and looked back at the only other person there who wasn't frozen in shock (poor Patrick was practically paralyzed).

"I've already called an ambulance, they're on their way." Tyler interrupted, seeming the most composed of everyone there. Don't get me wrong, he was pacing and running his hand through his hair every two seconds, but compared to Gerard, who was now hyperventilating and Patrick, who still hadn't moved from where he was when he first saw Frank, he was reasonably calm.

Frank was fading in and out of consciousness, probably from a mix of pain and blood loss. He could vaguely hear Gerard and Tyler telling him not to fall asleep, but it was only a faint echo in the back of his mind compared to the many voices in his head shouting at him to close his eyes and never wake up. He fought them at first, but soon he had to give up. It was too much for him to bear. And off to sleep he drifted...

°·*°·*°·*°·*°·*

Gerard was frozen in time. All he could do was stare at the pale face of his best friend. While everyone else was offering each other their condolences, he and Tyler stayed by the casket. They were silent, but they were okay with that. They didn't need meaningless chatter. Not when they were staring so intently at their deceased friend, so deep in thought that not even a hand in front of their faces could bring them out of it.

Frank looked so angelic. For once, it seemed he wasn't worrying. He wasn't counting calories, he wasn't distressed by the amount of fat between his thighs. He was sleeping peacfully. His skin had lost its summer tan and was now a pale olive tone. His eyes were closed, as was his mouth. He was wearing a black and red suit along with his skeleton gloves. And damn, he really loved those gloves. Under his suit was a stitched up wound from a night when he just couldn't go on feeling like he was. And that was all Gerard and Tyler could see. Whenever they shut their eyes, it wasn't black, it was a memory of that night. 

Whenever they looked at the body of their shortest friend, they saw him happy and alive, or they saw him bleeding and crying. They never saw his body as what is was; a shell of the Frank they knew. It was almost as if they were waiting for him to wake up, giggling his adorable giggle, and tell them I'm okay, but I sure fooled you!

It took two gentle, but somehow simultaneously firm smacks to the face for Hayley to grasp Tyler's attention, but there was no bringing Gerard out of his own head. Not until he was ready. 

"Would everyone please take a seat? The ceremony is about to begin." an old woman standing by the podium said into the microphone. Everyone migrated toward their seats, Hayley and Patrick softly tugging Tyler and Gerard away from Frank and into a pew in the front of the wooden church.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the life, and mourn the death, of Frank Anthony Thomas Iero Jr.-" This was all Patrick heard before he tuned out, his own thoughts growing too loud for him to ignore. He wasn't as close to Frank as Tyler and Gerard were, but they had clicked in a way that he had never felt with anyone else before. It was almost like brothers at first sight. He felt terrible that he hadn't picked up on Frank's mental illness before it was too late. If he had, maybe he could've saved the hurting friend of his. Maybe he wouldn't have been sitting at a funeral that day. Maybe he would've been at the beach with all of his friends. But he could think of all the 'maybe's and 'what if's he wanted. None of it was going to bring Frank back.

Patrick looked up and to his left when he heard the sound of crying. On the other side of Gerard (who was sitting directly to Patrick's left) was Ryan. He hadn't been in the house when Frank killed himself. He was visiting family in Nevada for the first time in a while since moving to Jersey. And he felt awful that the last time he ever talked to Frank was a quick 'see you in a week, dude.' He had the idea that maybe if he was home, he could've heard Frank leaving his room and stopped him from even getting his hands on the means to hurt himself. But the past can't be undone, and Ryan had a feeling that that would haunt him forever.

But although Ryan's guilt was immense, no one's was worse than Hayley's. She had been asleep, even through Frank's screaming and crying. When she had finally awoken in the morning, it was to many texts, first saying that Frank had been taken to the hospital, so that's where everyone else was, then gradually morphing into pleas for her to wake up and come see Frank because he wasn't doing so well. By the time she actually woke up, they had given up on texting her an hour before, except for one message from Tyler. 'Frankie's dead' read the text.

Hayley didn't believe him at first. She'd let out a huff in exasperation at his antics. But as she was making coffee, she had begun to second guess herself. So she pulled out her phone and shot him a text, asking him if he was being serious while worrying her lip between her teeth. When she got her response in the affirmative, she threw the device across the room, yelling and cursing at herself for being such an idiot and actually believing that Tyler of all people might joke about something like that. Immediately after, she took her car to the hospital where she met three of her best friends in the lobby. She hadn't been allowed to see Frank until the funeral. And now that she'd seen him, so cold and lifeless, she wished she didn't request an open casket.

The funeral was over quickly (or so it seemed to the grieving friends) and they were permitted to watch Frank's burial. It was silent as they witnessed his wood-encased body lowered into the ground. At this point, everyone was crying. Everyone besides Gerard. The last time he cried had been when he heard that Frank had lost too much blood and was pronounced dead. He just felt numb now. No sadness, no anger, no guilt. No anything. And he would've much preferred to be feeling all the feelings than none of them. But that's just the way life works. It gives you everything you'll ever need after years of suffering, and then it rips it all away from you and leaves you worse off than you were before. And for some people, that's impossible to make it through.

One month later, Gerard shot himself.

Three months after that, Hayley overdosed.

Ryan turned to drugs and alcohol for comfort, and died in a car accident as a result of drunk driving seven months later.

Patrick became a self-harm addict, and no matter how hard Tyler worked to help him, it was never enough.

Tyler was the only one who recovered. And his recovery was only partial. He hurt everyday, thinking about all the people he had lost within the span of one year. And six people's lives were ruined, all because of an accidental suicide.

°·*°·*°·*°·*°·*

so yea ik this doesnt seem v realistic but i looked it up on quora a couple years ago and they said if you cut your tummy flab off with scissors youll die of blood loss so i took their word for it

this took me a long ass time to write. like...three days or smthg. also the end is kinda rushed sorry


	3. Positive Effect ~FLUFFY~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this for my partner on our 2 month anniversary. its not the best but it was my first try at fluff so

alright yall this one is gender bent theyre l e s b i a n s

wait no nvm, historians say theyre gal pals

°·*°·*°·*°·*°·*

Gee's POV

It's funny how much your world can change in so little time. Things can have a negative effect that ruins lives, like being diagnosed with a terminal illness. But they can also have a positive effect that saves lives. Frankie is my positive effect. She entered my life right when i needed her here. She makes me feel less alone. She makes me feel like I'm worth something. And somehow, I make her feel the same.

To give you a bit of background: I met Frankie when I was 20. I'm now 24 and she's 22. We met at one of her friend, Ray's, parties that my brother dragged me along to in my sophomore year of college. We actually didn't like each other all too much at first but once we both had some drinks in our systems, we ended up exchanging numbers in our drunken states. And that was probably the best mistake of my life. I say mistake because after that, I fell hopelessly in love with her and she didn't even notice for a year. In fact, she went on to hook up with many other girls and then come back to my dorm just to tell me about it. But it led to where we are now, which is dating. And this time it's not only me who's hopelessly in love.

I was curled up face down with her on the queen-sized bed in our room. She gently stroked my hair and sang sweet love songs to me. It was a little cold in our room but every time I got goosebumps she would gently rub my arms until they went away.

"Baby?" I mumbled into her shoulder where my head was rested.

"Hmm?" she responded, quieting her singing to a hum just barely louder than silence.

"I wuv oo." I said in a baby voice and looked up at her as best I could from my position half beside her and half on top of her.

"I love you too, babygirl."

"No, but like, I really love you."

"I know, Gee," Frankie giggled, brushing a strand of hair out of my face and behind my ear, "I really love you too."

"You do?"

"I do."

"Frankie, will you marry me?"

There was a pause, but not a hesitation if that makes any sense at all.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll marry you, Gee." she said lovingly. I could hear the smile in her voice.

I perked up, my smile now matching hers. "Promise? Promise you won't leave me?"

"I won't ever leave you babygirl, I promise."

I bent my knees and twisted my legs underneath me so I was sitting on them (that made it sound uncomfortable, but it was in a comfy way, I promise). I was now at the same level as Frankie since she was sitting with the upper part of her back on the headboard. She watched me curiously until she figured out what I was attemping to adjust my position for. Just as I was about to lean in and kiss her, she beat me to it and I felt her lips on mine. I squeaked in alarm at the sudden action but instantly started kissing back. The kiss was soft and not at all sexual, it was loving and chaste. It didn't last long; Frankie had to pull away for breath and there just wasn't a need to kiss after it was broken. I slipped my hand into hers, feeling her fingers slowly encase mine. I was content with any kind of physical contact, but holding her hand was something special. I don't know why, it just was.

Frankie smiled at me and I grinned right back, just taking each other in. This was where we were most vulnerable and all we wanted was to be close to each other.

"I wanna have kids some day." I chimed into the silence, saying the first thing that popped into my mind. It was something I had been wanting to bring up to Frankie for a while now but I had been too nervous. She glanced at me with her eyebrows raised, a sort of I-can't-tell-if-you're-being-serious-or-not look on her face.

"Babe, we're lesbians. We physically can't have kids." she explained slowly as if she were talking to a small child. I rolled my eyes at her, although I was trying to hide a smile. I knew she was just messing with me.

"Frankie," I whined, "you know what I mean! We could get a sperm donor or even adopt, I just wanna raise kids with you."

Frankie just smiled at me like a nerd. I watched her expectantly, waiting for a response. After a few seconds, she finally said "Okay, yeah, I think we can do that."

Instead of showing my excitement verbally, I grinned and flopped back down into my laying position, Frankie emitting a soft 'oof' when I landed partially on her stomach. I thought of apologizing but I never ended up voicing it. I'm a bit of an asshole like that, but my girlfriend knows I'm not purposely being rude to her. It's just something I do, I guess. I don't really know how else to explain it.

"Do you ever wonder what you'll look like in 50 or 60 years?" Frankie asked after a few minutes of silence. I nodded on her collarbone where my head now rested.

"All the time. I think I'll still be hot as fuck. I'll be our grandkids' sexy grandma. You can be their old shriveled grandma that wears a matching mauve sweatshirt-sweatpants combo." I smirked in her face. She shot me a dirty look.

"Yeah right, like I'd wear purple anyways. Bitch, I'll be wearing matching red and black sweats. I'm gonna be their rad, punk rock grandma." Frankie said with a bit of a lopsided grin. I smiled at her adoringly.

"Of course you will, babu."

It was quiet after that. There was no need to fill the silence. The two of us slowly fell asleep in each others arms, both excited about our future together. If you asked me a year ago, I would've said I wasn't going to live to have a future, but now that I have the love of my life here with me, I can't imagine not living to a ripe old age with her. I guess that's just one of the many benefits of my beautiful positive effect named Frankie.

°·*°·*°·*°·*°·*

so sorry this was shorter than usual, i just thought this was a good place to end it. and sorry i suck at fluff too, this was a pathetic first attempt


End file.
